


Please Share My Umbrella

by Makd



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Meet-Ugly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 15:07:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5631049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makd/pseuds/Makd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s my first time taking this bus route and I thought we were going the same place and I accidentally followed you off the wrong stop, don’t leave me" AU</p><p>In which Bellamy tries really hard but his life is a disaster (surprise!).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Share My Umbrella

**Author's Note:**

> This was a gift for [Katie](http://amillion-smiles.tumblr.com/) for the "the 100 secret santa". Thanks to [larriecloudss](larriecloudss.tumblr.com) for being an awesome beta.

Bellamy’s pretty sure he’s dripping with sweat. His heart’s pounding and his legs ache, but there is no way he’s gonna miss this bus. The bus timetable clutched in his clammy hand says the bus gets to his stop at 6.16 am, and the next one doesn’t come until 6.58 am.

It had only been 6am when he’d got a frantic call from his little sister, and after much confusion (from Bellamy) and yelling (from Octavia) it seemed that Octavia was in labour. Bellamy had promptly freaked out, causing Octavia to scream at him some more before hanging up. Of course Octavia’s daughter would show up a whole month early, probably just to cause trouble.

Bellamy had rummaged frantically through his apartment, desperately searching for some clothes without stains, dirt or blood on them (laundry day was tomorrow, okay? He’d wash everything then.), and shoved a couple of breakfast bars in his mouth before he’s sprinting through his neighbourhood, determined to catch the earlier bus.

As he runs, Bellamy curses the stupid drunk teen he’d arrested weeks ago. The little shit had come back a couples days ago and made a canvas of Bellamy’s car. Not even his patrol car, no, the punk had taken a key to Bellamy’s beloved pickup truck, which was now in the shop having the genitalia engravings removed.

So now, Bellamy’s legging it to the closest bus stop and praying his high school days of Athletics carnivals will fare him well. Octavia’s gonna kill him.

The bus driver is closing the doors just as Bellamy nears it, but he’ll be damned if he missed this bus.

“Hold the doors, please!” Bellamy wheezes, waving his hands frantically at the driver, and miraculously the doors stay open long enough for Bellamy to almost leap onto the bus. He falls to the floor as the driver jerks the bus away from the curb, but at least he’s on it and not crying on the sidewalk.

It’s with a ridiculous smile of pride that Bellamy picks himself off the ground and collapses into the closest seat. He actually made it. Maybe he should join a cross country team or something.

...

Bellamy has another problem. There’s a woman on the bus and Bellamy knows her. Or he thinks he does. Maybe. Probably?

The woman is sitting across from him on the seats that run along the side of the bus and face into the aisle. She’s tapping her fingers on her thigh to whatever music is coming through her earphones and hasn’t glanced once at Bellamy. And yet Bellamy is fixated. He knows he’s seen her somewhere, and Bellamy has to know where, it’s one of his worst habits (Octavia says it’s an issue. It’s really not.). He once typed “muscly, scowl-y, and irritated man but with nice tattoos” into google to satisfy the itching sensation he gets under his skin when he not-quite recognises someone. (Turns out Burly McDouchface was his sister’s new boyfriend. His life is great.)

Anyway, Bellamy’s got an issue with the mystery lady. That is, until she pulls a lanyard out of her bag that says “Arcadia General Hospital”, and Bellamy realises she’s the doctor he met when he went once with Octavia to her monthly check up (he’d insisted she go for a general health check up in addition to her ultrasounds. Octavia had not been pleased). Feeling a little relieved that she wasn’t one of his one-night stands (awkward), Bellamy settles back into his seat and closes his eyes, determined to at least rest before he gets to the hospital.

The hospital.

Bellamy’s eyes fly open as he realises he doesn’t even know what stop the hospital is, or if the stop is near the hospital. Octavia had only told him there was a bus stop on Union Street, a block away from his apartment, and to “bring the alcohol so I can be near it”. He groans softly, eliciting a sharp look from the man beside him, and reaches for his phone. Maybe the timetable and route’s online. It’s the 21st century, online bus info must be a thing, right?

If it is, Bellamy will never know because it appears that he’s left his phone somewhere in the remnants of what used to be his bedroom before Octavia’s unborn terror had decided it wanted a dramatic surprise arrival (takes after her mother, he thinks fondly) and prompted Bellamy’s panicked rummaging through of his closet. Inevitably, it had ended with the entire contents of Bellamy’s wardrobe strew across the floor in a bloody, sweaty heap, with his phone presumably buried somewhere beneath it. He took everything out of his hastily packed backpack (the eight bottles of vodka had given him some strange looks from other passengers) and even checked his shoes. No phone.

What a great day.

...

It’s almost half past six and Bellamy feels sick. Yes, he knows he should just ask someone what stop to get off, but he’s pretty sure everyone on this bus thinks he’s some kind of homeless alcoholic and would probably think he’s going for a liver transplant or something. So he’s gone with picking a random number and getting off at that stop. He’s trying to decide between 12 and 5 when the lady from the hospital takes an umbrella out of her bag.

Why does Bellamy notice this? Well, the umbrella was surely far too big to fit in that bag (hospital lady is probably some modern Mary Poppins) and it’s decorated with the poop emoji. It’s a work of art, and Bellamy takes a few seconds to just appreciate it.

And then he realises.

If the blonde lady works at the hospital, she’s probably on her way to work, right? And she works at the hospital, which is where Bellamy needs to be, so Bellamy can just follow her off the bus when she gets off. It’s genius. He saves himself the embarrassment of having to ask where to get off and he also avoids Octavia’s fury when he fails to provide the liquor for her daughter’s birth.

Smiling softly and feeling less like he’s facing imminent death at the hands of his little sister, Bellamy leans back and lets the hum of the bus lull him into a calm stupor.

...

The blonde gets off at the 14th stop, which is a total twelve minutes after Bellamy would have gotten off if he’d gone through with his lucky number strategy so yay for hospital workers.

Bellamy quickly follows her off, staying quite a way behind her but still managing to keep her in his sight as she weaves through the neighbourhood. Bellamy thought the hospital was closer to the inner city (he thinks he remembers skyscrapers on either side of it), but the last time he was there was almost three months ago so he’s probably getting it mixed up. Plus, this lady works there, and he’s pretty sure someone with good enough sense to appreciate a poop emoji umbrella would know her way to work. 

After about two minutes of tailing (it’s starting to feel like stalking) the blonde, she turns abruptly to the left, down a small lane of book shops. Nice, Bellamy thinks, shortcut!

At the end of the lane, she turns left again and Bellamy’s a bit puzzled. They’re essentially heading back the way they came. At the end of the street she turns left again, bringing them almost full circle and Bellamy’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. Maybe she’s making a stop somewhere first. But then she takes another left and they’re back to heading up the street they were on a minute ago. This time, when they pass the bookshop lane the woman heads straight past it and Bellamy shrugs the detours off as trivial. Some of the graffiti art in the laneway had been quite nice, he supposes. 

They continue up the street, past the lane of bookshops and then the woman turns left again, this time squeezing into a tight alleyway.

Bellamy’s debating whether or not he should follow the cute blonde down the alley (kind of an extreme measure to take for a short cut) when something comes flying at his face. It makes contact, and he’s dimly aware of a sharp thud and a clang of metal colliding before he’s on the ground, his head snapping back to ricochet off the concrete . His nose throbs, and involuntary tears stream down his cheeks.

A small figure darts out of the alley and Bellamy decides there is no way he’s letting his attacker get away. He kicks his leg out with as much force as he can muster, and is satisfied when he hears a sharp cry and a thud of a body hitting the pavement.

Bellamy scrambles to his feet, fists ready at his side, and steps over his attacker. He pauses momentarily when he recognises the person on the floor as the cute blonde from the bus. It’s enough for the woman to quickly sweep her legs under his feet and bring him crashing to the ground beside her. The woman flips over and brings her knee onto Bellamy’s chest, pushing down until he’s gasping for air.

“Who are you!” Bellamy’s attacker screams, her fists bunching up the front of his shirt to bring his face up to hers. Bellamy only coughs in response. Spots dance before his eyes and his gasps have turned to shallow wheezes. The woman on top of him must decide she doesn’t want to murder him, just really, really, hurt him, and she steps away. “Who are you?” She repeats, clutching her umbrella like a baseball bat, poised above her shoulder ready to swing.

“What?” Bellamy rasps, sitting up on his elbows and willing the world to stop spinning.

“What do you want?”

Bellamy’s managed to stand up without the ground moving, and he reaches a tentative hand up to his throbbing nose and stifles a shriek when it comes away glistening with blood. He turns to glare at the lady. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Me!?” The blonde’s eyes bulge dramatically, “What’s wrong with me?” Bellamy wants to scream. He's the one bleeding.

“You hit me,” Bellamy hisses, “With- what? A bag of rocks?”

“An umbrella, actually,” the woman snarls back. The poop umbrella, Bellamy realises, has a smattering of blood on it - his blood. It’s looking less like art and something he wants to snap in half. “And it was you who followed me off the bus for almost five minutes, you creep!”

Bellamy gapes at her. “I- I….”

“You what?” The woman in front of him looks dangerously close to beating him to death with her poop umbrella. Bellamy frantically searches his mind for an excuse, and decides that he might have to put aside his man pride and tell her the truth. Or he could lie and end up being dragged, beaten and bloody, into a police station and jailed for harassment. Probably his own police station, Bellamy thinks glumly. Just to add a nice touch to the wonderful day he seems to be having. 

“I was heading to the hospital,” Bellamy says, taking a few cautionary steps away from the umbrella-wielding lady, who narrows her eyes.

“The hospital’s no where near here,” she growls, adjusting her grip on the handle of the umbrella, “Try again.” Bellamy wants to cry. Or maybe curse himself for making bad choices. 

“I thought it was!” he protests, “I thought you were heading there!”

“Why?”

“You work there!” The woman’s anger wavers, and Bellamy sees a flash of fear in her eyes. If she hadn’t whacked him in the face with an umbrella, he’d feel terrible. But he’s sore and bleeding so he only feels bad.

“How - how do you know that?” she demands, her confidence seeming to waver. If he wanted to, Bellamy could run right now and probably make it away (his earlier game of chase with the bus was a testament to the fact) But then he’d seem guilty and then she’d probably track him down and get him arrested (most likely by his own colleagues). She seems resourceful enough - she did manage to make a weapon out of a poop umbrella.

“I was at a checkup, for my sister a couple months ago,” Bellamy explains, hands up to try and at least reassure the woman that he won’t hurt her, “I recognised you.”

“And you thought I’d be fine with a strange man - who I didn't recognise from a random ultrasound- following me off the bus as I walk home?” The woman’s screaming at him now, and a little old man has emerged from one of the book stores to see what’s going on. He honestly doesn’t blame her for reacting like this. He knows the worlds not a particularly nice place for women, and he knows he was stupid for not considering this when he decided to follow her. Bellamy grimaces, berating himself for being an insensitive arsehole.

“I thought you might have recognised me!” Bellamy glances down at his shirt to find the front almost saturated with blood.

“What!?” The woman screeches. Bellamy’s trying desperately to stem the flow of blood from his nose, but the warm liquid is still dripping down his arms. “Do you know how many patients I see each day?”

“What- I don’t -” Bellamy spluttered, grimacing as he tasted the sharp tang of blood on his tongue.

“You wanna know, huh?” The blond woman is slowly turning red, her voice climbing in pitch. Bellamy scoffs softly, anger curling in his stomach. She hit with an umbrella, okay? He’s supposed to be the one screaming at her.

“Please,” he says around a mouthful of blood, “Do share.” This seems to infuriate the woman even more, and she stammers a bit before answering. She obviously hadn’t anticipated a response from him.

“Well I- I don’t know the exact number, but -” Bellamy snorts, giving up entirely on stopping the blood now gushing from his nose with no sign of slowing down. “But it’s a lot, okay?” The woman snaps, “How am I supposed to recognise one person out of hundreds?!”

“I don’t know,” Bellamy yells back, “But you didn’t have to break my nose!”

“Please,” the woman scoffs, “It’s not broken. You’ll get a bruise, if you’re lucky.”

“Well, it feels like you broke it!”

“I know what broken noses look like!”

“What, d'you do this often or something?!” Bellamy is fast losing his patience, and his shirt is fast turning from white to red.

“I’m a qualified general practitioner, I’m pretty sure I have a good idea of what a broken nose looks like!”

Bellamy’s pretty sure his face is bright red with frustration and he’s almost shaking with indignation. “Well you still -”

“Excuse me,” a small, heavily accented voice interrupts, “Everything is okay, yes?” It’s the old man from one of the bookshops, speaking in a thick Italian accent. The woman glances quickly at Bellamy and he knows this is it - this is the day he gets beat up by a doctor with a poop umbrella and an old Italian man.

However, the blonde woman seems to recover faster than Bellamy and plasters a blinding smile on her face. Bellamy can still see the rage seething in her eyes, and takes the opportunity to take a couple steps closer to the old man.

“Yes, yes,” she says sweetly, “We’re just fine!” The old man squints between Bellamy and the woman.

“But, that is blood, yes?” he says, raising a shaky, gnarled hand to gesture at Bellamy’s stained shirt. Bellamy raises his eyebrows at the woman, wondering how she’s going to explain to this kind old man that she hit a well-meaning, if a little thoughtless, young man with a poop umbrella. The look she sends him in return makes it clear that they’ll be resuming their screaming match as soon as they get out of here.

“Yes,” the woman says brightly, her smile pasted back across her face, “That is blood. Because he fell. On his face,” she grins nastily at Bellamy, and reaches out to pat his arm a little too forcefully to be friendly, and adds, rather unnecessarily in Bellamy’s opinion, “He’s a bit clumsy.”

“Oh,” the old man’s concerned expressions splits into a smile, “Well, that is all good!”

“Yes,” the woman chuckles, inching closer and closer to Bellamy until she’s able to wrap her fingers around his bicep. He resists the urge to rip his arm out of her grip, but she’s surprisingly strong for her size (which he really should have known from the force of her baseball bat swing earlier). “I’m trying to convince him to go to the hospital with me, but the stupid bastard is just so stubborn!” Bellamy smiles tightly at the little man, who is nodding along with every word out of the blonde’s mouth.

“I come with you!” the man declares, still smiling happily at the two of them.

“What?” Bellamy says at the same time as the woman screams out “No!” The little man, whose name tag reads ‘Mr Greco’, seems a little taken aback at the force of her protest, and his kind smile wavers. The blonde recovers quickly, however, and pastes a reassuring smile on her face.

“Thank you,” she says sweetly, “But that won’t be necessary.” Bellamy’s adrenaline is fading quickly and his head is starting to feel as though it’s packed full of bricks. The ground lurches suddenly and he’s saved from falling flat on his face by a small pair of strong hands, which wrap around his upper arms and haul him back up.

“No, no, no,” Mr Greco exclaims, waving his hands at the woman, who is almost struggling under Bellamy’s weight. “He is not well! I come with you. I go see my daughter, yes? She is in hospital, she is doctor, very, very good doctor!”

Nothing the woman can say will dissuade the old man, and that’s how Bellamy spends his morning packed in a small car with a woman who assaulted him (after he followed her home) and a kind old Italian man.

...

“What’s your name?”

“What?” Bellamy’s startled out of his thoughts of self pity by the sudden question. He’s sure Octavia’s going to murder him when he turns up - if he even manages to get to the hospital alive. His head feels like someone’s filled it with sand, his tongue feels heavy in his mouth and the contents of his hasty breakfast churn unpleasantly in his stomach.

“What’s your name?” The woman repeats, eyes still trained on the road and the cars ahead, sparing only a quick glance to Bellamy seated beside her in the passenger seat. Mr Greco is seated in the back, chattering brightly into his phone in rapid Italian, happily oblivious to the thick atmosphere of discomfort in the car. “I just realised I don’t know your name.”

“I didn’t really get a chance to tell you,” Bellamy bites out, before grimacing. Wow, way to be a dick Blake. He’s expecting her to snap back at him, to kick him out of the car, to whack him in the face again. But this lady is nothing like Bellamy expected, and the corner of her mouth quirks up slightly.

“Well, I didn’t really get the chance to ask,” she replies, without any malice, “I didn’t have the urge to stop and ask you, lest you knock me out and rob me.” The woman chuckles softly at herself, frowning over at Bellamy when he doesn’t join in or reply, just sitting quietly in the passenger seat. “Are you gonna throw up? Because I don’t have a bucket, you’ll just have to stick your head out the window -”

“I could have hurt you.” Bellamy says lowly. It’s been playing on his mind since he realised just how terrified the woman was, after he had followed her home…he is such an arsehole. His stomach clenches when he remembers a day, back when he was only 15, when his mom called him. She’d whispered his name frantically, begged him to come meet her at the bus stop. One of her - clients (for want of better word) had followed her to the supermarket and round the whole neighbourhood and his mom was so scared, didn’t want to go home and risk the man visiting later on, didn’t want to go to the police and be arrested for merely trying to make ends meet. It terrified Bellamy to hear his mother, the person who was supposed to be strong, was supposed to be the one who got Bellamy out of trouble, almost crying from fear of what this man might do to her.

He threw up twice running to meet her, heaving into bushes and behind fences as fear and anxiety boiled in his stomach. And rage. Oh God was Bellamy filled with burning rage. He was furious with this man for making his mother feel this way, he was furious when he learned later, from a friend at school, that most women suffer like that, and he thought to himself not if I can help it .

That day largely shaped his decision, years later when he accepted a place at the academy and joined the police force afterwards. Bellamy always feels a sense of vindictive pleasure when he slaps men like that one he’s had to scare off all those years ago in handcuffs, and his colleagues never question why he’s always the first to volunteer to bring those men in.

Now, Bellamy can’t rid himself of the image of bright blue eyes filled with fearful anger, screaming to him: please, don’t hurt me. He shifts in his seat, avoiding the woman’s gaze. “I could have followed you home and robbed you, or beat you, or, or -” He’s cut off by clear, ringing laughter and is bewildered by the woman sitting next to him, pissing herself at the idea of Bellamy doing her serious harm. “What? I’m serious!”

The woman just shakes her head at him. “Your nose looks like someone threw a brick at it, you’ve got a concussion and I’ll bet those grazes and bruises on your forehead are gonna hurt for weeks.” Bellamy just glares at her, eliciting another giggle from the blonde. “If you really wanted to hurt me…” she trails off, glancing at Bellamy expectantly.

“Oh, uh, it’s Bellamy. Bellamy Blake.” The woman nods, turning her gaze back to the road.

“If you really wanted to hurt me Bellamy, which, no doubt you could have tried to do, I can guarantee you that you’d be looking worse than that. Much worse.” Bellamy, feeling the steady throb of his head and the ache of his bleeding nose, doesn’t doubt this tiny doctor could probably handle herself perfectly fine. Nevertheless, he still feels guilty for becoming one of those men, even for just a few minutes.

There’s a few beats of silence between them, the only noise from the traffic outside and Mr Greco chattering quickly into his phone.

“Clarke.”

Bellamy starts, disrupted from his musings. He looks back to the woman beside him. “Sorry, what?”

“My name,” the woman (no, Clarke) explains, “It’s Clarke Griffin.” Bellamy feels the corners of his mouth twitch.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, with a flourish of his hand and a tip of an imaginary hat, “Clarke.”

Clarke smiles back at him. It’s soft and small, but it’s a smile nonetheless. “Likewise, Mister Blake.”

...

The car trip to the hospital becomes significantly lighter, and soon Bellamy’s explaining why he was headed to the hospital in the first place.

“You bought your pregnant sister,” Clarke says incredulously, “Who, from what I’ve gathered is in labour, eight bottles of hard liquor?” Bellamy groans, chuckling as Clarke lectures him mockingly on the dangers of drinking alcohol while pregnant.

“She asked for them, okay?” Bellamy explains, ignoring Mr Greco’s laughter in the back. “She said she wanted them close by, I wasn’t actually going to let her drink any!” Clarke shakes her head as she giggles, and Bellamy can’t help but notice the way her nose scrunches up when she laughs. It’s cute, he decides and okay fine, she’s cute.

“Bellamy?”

“Huh?” Bellamy tears his gaze away from Clarke’s nose, guiltily avoiding her scrutinising stare.

“You sure you’re not gonna chuck? 'Cos, uh, my mom bought me this car literally four days ago so…” Clarke’s still peering at him intensely and he manages to stammer out that she should be keeping her eyes on the road. She snorts at his half assed snipe.

“We’re at the hospital, idiot.”

Bellamy peers out the window. Huh. So they are.

“He is admiring the beautiful scenery, no?” Mr Greco pipes up from the back, sharp eyes twinkling at Bellamy in a way that makes him blush. The old man is certainly too intuitive for Bellamy’s liking. Clarke, however, doesn’t seem to catch on and she mutters something about litter in the city and the state of the children’s park opposite the City Square.

They traipse out of the car, both Clarke and Mr Greco insistent on accompanying him to the ER, frog marching him up to the receptionist, despite Bellamy’s protests that he needs to find his sister.

“She’s gonna kill me,” Bellamy pleads, desperate to escape the overbearing concerns of Clarke and Mr Greco, as well as the strong smell of hospital grade antiseptic that seems to have been smothered over every surface in the crowded waiting room, “And I wanna be there for…y'know, the- the-”

“The birth?” Clarke supplies, eyebrows reaching to her hairline. “You’re allowed to say that word Bellamy, it’s not naughty, you won’t get sent to Time Out.” Clarke grins at him cheekily and Bellamy huffs. Mr Greco stands silently to the side, and has taken to winking at Bellamy every minute or so. Bellamy preferred the kind old man when he was smiling benignly at everything he had said.

“I just don’t wanna think about Octavia with an actual human coming out of her…. Anyway! I need to go see Octavia.” Bellamy says firmly, trying and failing to shoulder his way past Clarke, who moves into his path and stares him coolly in the face.

“You can go see your sister,” Clarke says slowly, holding a firm hand up to squash Bellamy’s thanks, “After you get a full checkup.” Bellamy sputters indignantly but the steely glint in Clarke’s eye is eerily similar to Octavia’s gleaming determination and Bellamy accepts defeat. He throws himself into an uncomfortable plastic chair beside Clarke, grumbling about missing life changing moments. Clarke just sticks her tongue out at him.

Mr Greco winks at him. Bellamy stares sourly back. 

...

There’s a surprisingly short wait until Bellamy gets taken into an examination room. Clarke admits to him, once he’s been cleared by the examiner, that she pulled some strings to get him a sooner appointment.

“What’d it cost you?” Bellamy queries, tucking the handwritten orders from the doctor into his already overflowing bag. Clarke shrugs, playing absently with the end of her braid, gazing over at where Mr Greco is seated, again talking in rapid Italian but this time to a woman who must be his daughter. Same smile, Bellamy thinks absently.

“Just some extra shifts, nothing shady.” The blonde is now worrying her lip between her teeth, while Bellamy shifts awkwardly on his feet, nodding at her answer. The silence between them suddenly becomes uncomfortable and Bellamy realises this is probably where he needs to say goodbye and attend to his sister. Yet, some small childish part of him doesn’t want to leave Clarke’s company yet. Clarke coughs hesitantly, pulling a small piece of paper from her handbag.

“Right, well you need to go see your sister,” Clarke says brightly, her smile tight but genuine nonetheless, “And I asked the receptionists where she was staying and they said you’d find her in this room here.” Clarke hands Bellamy the piece of paper before clearing her throat again.

“Uh, thank you,” Bellamy manages to squeak out. They stand together awkwardly for a few more beats of pained silence before Bellamy steps away. He’s gone not more than four steps when a small hand seizes his arm.

“Let me give you my number,” Clarke blurts out, and okay, Bellamy was not expecting that. “Just for, um, insurance details?”

“Insurance details?” Bellamy repeats slowly. Clarke seemed to have composed herself and she nods, smiling weakly.

“I should pay,” she explains nervously, face still the colour of a tomato, “For y'know, hitting you and giving you a concussion.”

“No.”

“It’s really the least I could do!” Clarke’s pouting now, and well, Bellamy would be lying if he said he wasn’t completely disinterested in seeing Clarke some more. For insurance issues, obviously.

“Give me your number, and I’ll think about it.” Clarke smiles, big and bright this time, and excitedly scrawls her number on Bellamy’s palm with a marker she commandeered from the front desk.

Bellamy smiles at her when she’s finished, resolving to at least wait until he gets home to consider calling her. “Hope you’ve go your affairs in order, Clarke, because I know hospital visits aren’t cheap.”

Clarke shoves him away, a small smile on her lips. “Go give your sister her alcohol.” Bellamy leaves her standing in a crowded Emergency Room, an excited Italian man at her sleeve and a grin on her face.

...

“False labour?” Bellamy whispers to himself, unsure whether to be relieved or horrified. “I endured the worst morning known to man for a false labour?” Octavia shrugs, handing him a takeaway cup of coffee. Bellamy just stares at her in horror.

“The doctors said the better term is 'pre-labour’, 'cause apparently it’s just my body getting ready to have a baby!” Bellamy has no idea how his sister can be so nonchalant about this whole ordeal. (Lincoln explains later that they pumped her full of pain meds to deal with the “fake” contractions, so she was a bit out of it.)

He’d almost raced through the hospital to find Octavia, and when he did it wasn’t to find her with a baby in her arms but smiling widely and a bottle of cheap beer hugged to her chest (Lincoln had attempted to compensate for the absent bottles of vodka).

Bellamy had fired off questions a mile a minute, and Octavia waited patiently through his freak out before ordering him to sit down shut up and listen. Apparently a labour could be false. Who knew?

“So,” Octavian says primly, “Where were you this morning? You failed me greatly as the provider of hard alcohol, and I’m seriously reconsidering your role as godfather.” Bellamy knows he looks like shit, he knows Octavian can see the bruising on his face and she’s not stupid. But Octavia also knows how to sniff out a good story, so she plays dumb and waits for Bellamy to tell his woeful tale.

Which he does.

Octavia wakes an irate patient next door with her shrieks of laughter.

“A poop umbrella?!”

...

The first time Bellamy goes for coffee with Clarke, it’s merely to argue about who should pay his hospital fee. He discovers that she’s as funny and smart as she’s good looking, and she meets every one of his sarcastic snipes with her own quips. Clarke throws a pile of serviettes at him when he confesses he’s already paid the bill. 

The second time they go for coffee, it’s a courtesy call from Clarke to see how his injuries were healing up. Bellamy spends a ridiculous amount of time trying to find a good shirt to wear, and even puts a bit of product in his hair before he asks himself why he even cares so much.

The third time, they run into each other when they’re both on a lunch break and she insists on hearing all about how Octavia’s week old daughter is doing, teasing Bellamy as he tries and fails to tamp down on an excited smile as he shows Clarke the millions of photos of his niece that he has on his phone. She leaves with a promise to text Bellamy that night with some baby-related advice, and if texting about babies turns to joking and chatting like old friends, well - Bellamy’s not complaining.

The fourth time he tries and fails to come up with an excuse to meet her, and Clarke teases him mercilessly for being too nervous to just ask her out. The fifth, sixth, seventh and every time they go out after that, well - Bellamy really can’t think of any reason not to see her. 

(For their first year anniversary, she buys him an umbrella decorated with eggplant emojis.)

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, feel free to visit [my tumblr](5sos-bandcest.tumblr.com). Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! :)


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